


Ritual (8): The Pewter Monkey

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [8]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone Has Issues, Grief/Mourning, Heidi is not an idiot, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Incest, Infidelity, M/M, Melodrama, Mind Games, Oral Sex, Petrelli excellence, Petrellicest, Prophetic Dreams, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Ritual, Rough Sex, S&M, Season/Series 01, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Superpowers, Survivor Guilt, True Love, fetish object, good parenting, offscreen injury, sex therapy, terrible parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: After their father's death and the accident that paralyzes Heidi, Nathan and Peter's bond threatens to break forever. Can they keep it together—and for the right reasons?





	Ritual (8): The Pewter Monkey

**Author's Note:**

> Modesty entirely aside, I've always thought this was an excellent story. In the course of writing this series, this is when I begin to genuinely hit my stride, and the momentum of writing and posting sanded my abilities down to a pure form of expression, thus polishing them. Also, the gloves really begin to come off, kink-wise. 
> 
> Thanks to the incredibly kind encouragement of Antonia_Simmons in her comments; I've had health problems for months and fell off the posting schedule rather badly—It happens—but the kind words happened to me at just the right time. If you like a story, leave a comment! It makes all the difference!

_MAY 2006, FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS BEFORE THE ECLIPSE..._

The hospital room was very nice; soothing and milky-pale without being colorless or depressing, tastefully neutral like a suite at the Four Seasons, except that the bed had side rails, with the catheter bag discreetly tucked away underneath and on the side. It didn't give Nathan even a hint of comfort to know that at least Heidi couldn't feel the catheter.  
  
She wasn't going to feel anything down there ever again. Spinal myelopathy. Paralysis. Paraplegia. No, it didn't comfort him at all.  
  
As he approached her bedside, smiling at her with all the sunshine he could fake, for a second he wished that she had just been killed instead. Instantly afterward, Nathan wished that he could duck outside quickly and run down to the hospital chapel, find the nearest priest, and confess the horrible thought. He settled for praying that Heidi couldn't read it in his eyes, and he wasn't at all surprised when her guarded, but still pain-wracked expression told him that she'd seen it, all right.  
  
She had to have been thinking about their sex life as much as he had. Wondering what it would turn into after this. Sure, there was counseling, but they'd both backed out of having that discussion with professionals right away, Heidi claiming that she couldn't possibly be in her right mind for the sessions when she was still taking so much pain medication, and Nathan gratefully agreeing with her. If he couldn't even convincingly lie to his wife about how he felt, there was no way he could cover up everything else that he'd done in the past with someone who had a license in sniffing out deception.  
  
And there were things that he'd done that absolutely no one could discover. So very many things.  
  
He put his hand into his jacket pocket, checking to make sure the pewter monkey was still there. Peter had given Nathan that odd trinket on the day that Nathan came home from his military service, the day before Peter turned Nathan's world upside down.  
  
At first, Nathan didn't really want the trinket, but now he depended on it, brought it with him almost everywhere without even thinking about it. If he reached for it and it wasn't there, he felt scared and cold and panicky until he remembered where it was.  
  
"Where are the boys?" Heidi asked, smiling back as Nathan kissed her. Her mouth was tense and trembling under his.  
  
"In school," Nathan replied. "You in pain?"  
  
"I just took some pills a moment ago. They haven't kicked in yet." Heidi closed her eyes. "I'm fine. They coming at 4:30?"  
  
"The boys? Yeah. I'll go with Jasmine to pick them up from school, and we'll get them a snack before we come. Ma sure knows her nannies; Jasmine's pretty good so far. She makes sure Monty eats his whole breakfast. It's really impressive. Younger Petrellis never want to eat their whole breakfast." As he chatted, Nathan toyed with the monkey in his pocket, scraping his fingernails along the softening details of its surface. He smiled as he thought of his brother when he was Monty's age, and would scream and throw things if he was forced to eat more than he wanted to. Compared to Peter, Monty was an angel. "By the way, Simon's class is planning on taking a trip to the Natural History Museum next Monday. They sent a permission slip home with him—"  
  
"I don't want him going on that trip," Heidi broke in, her voice strained. "It's not safe, and I don't want him to have to deal with being in public with a dozen bodyguards trailing him. What the hell _is_ that in your pocket that you keep playing with?"  
  
Nathan felt his heart skip a beat, a brief jolt of panic that turned his guts into ice; he blinked slowly, and brought the monkey out of his pocket. "This? This is just a stupid little thing Peter got for me when he was in Boston for the first time." He'd never showed it to her, never told her about it. He held it out to show her, but not close enough for her to take it; he wasn't offering it, just showing it to her.  
  
_Mine. Look but don't touch._  
  
"I think he got it at gift shop at the zoo there; I don't know where else he'd get a monkey." Nathan tried to laugh through his nervousness. "It's just supposed to remind me of him." He swallowed, and added, "Remind me of Ma. It's symbolic."  
  
Heidi laughed almost soundlessly, like the sound of dry, dead leaves blowing across blacktop, shook her head, closed her eyes. "As if you need reminders—our house is full of pictures of them. Especially of Peter."  
  
She closed her eyes and shuddered, color rushing into her cheeks. Nathan recognized this from the time he spent injured in hospital; the drugs were coming on line at last, and the endorphin rush of pain relief was as good as an orgasm. He wished her the profoundest pleasure in it, because she'd most likely never have a real orgasm ever again. The drugs didn't seem to improve Heidi's mood; she took a deep breath and continued, "And your mother is almost as bad. I promised myself that one day I was going to take a survey through our house and her house, and see who has more pictures of Peter. It's like living out of the headquarters of the goddamned Peter Petrelli fan club—and you're the president!"  
  
"He's my brother," Nathan protested helplessly. "You're overreacting."  
  
"Nathan, there's such a thing as familial devotion. But you're _obsessed_!"  
  
"Now you're definitely overreacting."  
  
"Am I? I can guarantee that you have more photos of him than of me."  
  
Nathan squirmed. "It's just... I've known him for longer. For a long time, I only saw him in photos. So I collected them. I'm not gonna throw out pictures of my little brother."  
  
"But I'm your wife." Her shaky voice was getting blurry. "You couldn't wait to get out of here last night—"  
  
"The kids need me."  
  
Heidi rolled her eyes. "That's a good one. _The kids._ You see them at breakfast and dinner and on the holidays; the rest of the time you can't be bothered. Oh, don't get that look on your face like I'm picking on you; you know I'm right. I swear to God, half the time I feel like, not only do I not belong in this family, that you don't even bother to try to pretend like I do. And here you are, carrying around this—this _talisman_ to make sure that you don't forget about _Peter_?"  
  
Nathan said quietly, "I am wearing your ring. Every day. I don't take it off. It's with me everywhere I go. I'm going to take care of you, Heidi. We'll all take care of you. You _are_ part of my family, and we take care of each other. Forever. That's all there is to it. Now calm down. I understand you're in a lot of pain; you're saying things that you don't really mean."  
  
When she closed her eyes again, tears ran from the corners and into her hair. "You're right. I don't really mean that," she said, her voice as quiet and disinterested now as it had been loud and desperate a moment ago. The tears still flowed though, more heavily now, running in steady streams over her temples. "I'm gonna take a nap. Before I have physical therapy at two. It's not too bad... I can trick myself into thinking the therapy pool is a Jacuzzi and I'm at a spa. The whirlpool is... very relaxing..."  
  
Nathan watched her fall asleep, then bent over to kiss the tears from her cheeks. Even her tears tasted different from Peter's, which tasted just like Nathan's own.

* * *

  
In the parking lot of the hospital, before he met his car back to the office, Nathan whipped out his cell phone, and speed-dialed #3. Yes, after Heidi, after Mom. (He wasn't obsessed, he told himself.) And before Dad, whose number was still on Nathan's phone, for some reason. The old man had been dead for six days; why was his number still there? Why hadn't Nathan taken it off? Nathan touched the monkey in his pocket, listening to the ringing on the phone line.  
  
_"H'llo."_  
  
"You should really answer with your name."  
  
_"Fuck you, Nathan."_ Peter sounded numb and thick-tongued, like he'd been hitting what Heidi was on.  
  
"Were you sleeping?"  
  
_"Crying. Drinking."_  
  
"It's eleven A.M., Peter."  
  
_"It's my day off."_  
  
"It's _always_ your day off, Peter; you're unemployed."  
  
_"Fuck you, Nathan. I got a job. I just haven't started yet. I start on Saturday. If you'd actually returned my calls, you would have known that."_  
  
Nathan was surprised and proud, but didn't feel like expressing it. "Come to my office. I need to talk to you."  
  
_"**Talk** to me?"_ Peter replied, adding disappointment to the sadness in his voice. _"You ignore me for how many days? Since the funeral? Maybe **I** needed to talk to **you**.—Okay. When? Today?"_  
  
"Yes, today. I've gotta go get the boys by four, so please be here by... I dunno, one. I'll buy you lunch."  
  
_"You don't have to bribe me, Nathan,"_ Peter said, his voice breaking in the middle, and the heavy hum of digital silence coming through the line was worse than the sound of sobbing would have been. Nathan hardened his eyes and mouth so that he wouldn't start crying, too, because somebody had to be strong in all of this. He was the man of the family now. Peter said, _"I'll be there, okay?"_  
  
"Okay. Love you, Pete."  
  
_"Love you too, Nate."_  
  
When Peter arrived, Nathan had to shut himself down again. That was why he had avoided Peter for the last week; Nathan hated crying, hated that around Peter it was an autonomic response, like yawning. Peter looked like a hollow shadow of his former self, dangerously skinny, his eyes half vanished under red, puffy eyelids, and the fresh smell of whiskey still clinging to him. Still, he was dressed nicely enough, shaven, his hair brushed and pomaded, disguising the fact that he desperately needed his hair trimmed. He was there, and that was all that mattered now.  
  
Nathan took his brother in his arms and held him tight. "Look at you. When was the last time you ate?" he whispered, kissing Peter on the side of the head.  
  
"Er, this morning," Peter said, squirming a little. Not really wanting to be let go, just enjoying moving against Nathan. Nathan kissed him again, and released him. Peter slumped, like Nathan had been holding him up. "I had a... couple of saltines and some coffee."  
  
"And then you started drinking." Nathan shook his head. "Real smart, Peter."  
  
"I thought I'd be just sitting around by myself all day. Thought I'd clear a pint of cheap rye and listen to the Sundays. It was just an experiment to see if getting all sloppy and maudlin would help me feel better. But I'm glad you called me; it didn't feel like it was going to work. And I could use lunch," Peter hinted.  
  
"Not yet. I made a reservation for 1:45. We need to talk first." Nathan sat on the edge of his desk with a sigh, and Peter made his way to a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. "I went and saw Heidi this morning," Nathan continued.  
  
"How is she?"  
  
"She's healing up okay, but she's still in a lot of pain. There's no improvement in her condition. They won't be able to help that."  
  
"I'm sorry, Nathan." Peter kept his eyes on the floor, knowing that Nathan was sick of hearing about the fact that in his dream, he had been there too, felt the same horrible powerlessness, drifting up and away from the wreck like a balloon let go by a neglectful child. Nathan claimed that pain as his own, and he wasn't about to share.  
  
Nathan reached into his pocket, and held up the pewter monkey between his fingers. "She saw me toying with this, so I showed it to her; I explained it to her. I mean, in a way," Nathan amended, seeing Peter's look of shock. "I'm not crazy. Not what it _means._ I told her it was a keepsake. It upset her. I explained that... it's just my worry-stone. It's like my rosary beads."  
  
"That's _not_ a good analogy to make," Peter cut in.  
  
"Well, I didn't say it like _that_."  
  
"Just give it back to me," Peter said with a little shrug. "You don't need it anymore. If it upsets her—right now, she needs you."  
  
"Everybody needs me," Nathan replied bitterly.  
  
"That's right," Peter replied, standing up, approaching the desk, his eyes engaged now, wide and darkly burning, and Nathan found it impossible to look away. "Everybody needs you. It's what you wanted, isn't it?"  
  
"Dammit, Peter!"  
  
Peter moved tight into Nathan's space, and took the little silver monkey out of Nathan's hand. "Tell her you lost it," Peter said. "If it'll make her feel better. It's not important."  
  
"But I like it," Nathan protested lamely. Peter stayed close in, slipping the monkey into his own pocket, then taking Nathan's hand, lifting it to his lips, kissing it. Nathan gently tucked a loose strand of Peter's hair behind his ear, to touch him more. He wanted to take Peter into his arms and cling to him and cry, but that was impossible. "I play with it when I'm stressed out."  
  
"Get something else," Peter said. "Play with your wedding ring. Save your marriage. Be good to her; she's been good to you. I like her." He smiled, and watched Nathan's eyes dart to his lips; Peter watched Nathan's lips, too, and they both were quiet for a while. "At first, I wasn't sure that I would. But I like her; I love her. I love the kids. Hang on to that. For as long as you can. Forever, if you can."  
  
For a long time, Nathan said nothing, just gazed at Peter wonderingly. "I want to kiss you," he said at last, in a tiny whisper, barely moving his lips.  
  
"I want to kiss you, too," Peter whispered back. "Because I love you. Because I want... you... to feel joy. I want you to feel better."  
  
Nathan grimaced. "I don't get to feel better with this."  
  
"Why, 'cos you don't deserve it? We all deserve it, and none of us do. We're all fuckups. But I love _you._ So I want you to feel happy. I don't feel like you're more deserving of it than anybody else; shit, probably less. But it's you I love. And there it is." Peter smiled crookedly, a single tear running slick down his cheek.  
  
"I love _you_, Pete," Nathan replied, wiping up the tear, bringing it to his lips. It tasted faintly of whiskey. "Why don't you come for dinner tonight? Play a couple of games with the boys? I think it'd mean a lot to them."  
  
"Yeah, that'd be good," Peter agreed. "Be nice to see 'em. Monty okay?"  
  
"He's all right. He might act out a little; nothing extreme. Nothing as bad as you were at his age." Nathan grinned.  
  
Peter didn't smile back. "You didn't see me at his age," he replied. "You were in school. You only saw me once that year."  
  
"Yeah, but you were a nightmare. You kicked your nanny's shins black and blue. I thought they were going to have to put you in a straightjacket."  
  
"I missed you," Peter responded, smiling and shrugging again. "Can we go to lunch now? I'm starting to feel dizzy."  
  
At lunch, Peter slipped off one shoe and rested his socked foot against Nathan's knee under the table, just briefly, giving Nathan a weak, fleeting smile. Peter took his foot back, and Nathan returned the smile, but he couldn't keep it on his face either, and couldn't meet Peter's eyes again. They ate in silence, but it wasn't awkward; they both understood that they just weren't ready to talk. As they stood up at the end of the meal, Peter said quietly, "I'll see you... around six?"  
  
"Five-thirty," Nathan corrected. "And yeah. And thanks."  
  
"Am I staying?"  
  
"You could," said Nathan, nodding. "But not till morning."  
  
"Got it," Peter replied, patted Nathan on the arm, and set off alone. Nathan watched his brother walk away, still slumped and his eyes on the ground, but more upright than he had been. Nathan had done him some good. Nathan smiled, and reflexively slipped his hand into his pocket, forgetting momentarily that the monkey wasn't there.  
  
He wished Peter had let him hang onto it for just a little while longer.

* * *

  
After dinner, Peter played Go Fish with the boys while Nathan sat by and watched them. Peter asked Nathan if he wanted to play, too, but Nathan didn't even have the concentration to play Go Fish. He was in what Peter called "Brood Mode." It almost hurt his face to try to smile at his children. Instead of smiling back, they just looked a little scared.  
  
Peter was good with them, though. He was even almost making them laugh. Nathan hadn't heard the kids laugh in weeks; not since that night. He hadn't laughed since then, either.  
  
Seven o'clock meant the boys' bath-and-bedtime. Simon whined a little bit, but soon gave in and pouted off towards the bathroom. Monty, though, pitched a proper tizzy, pouring on the drama for Peter's benefit. Instead of slinking away with an embarrassed smile, like Nathan would have done, Peter crouched down so that he was at Monty's eye level. "Hey, dude," Peter said. "I know you don't want to go to bed. It's still light out and everything. But this is not cool, okay? What would your mom think if she saw you right now, huh?" Monty immediately went silent, and bent his head sadly. "Yeah," Peter continued. "I don't think she would like it at all. When are you going to visit her again?"  
  
"Tomorrow," Monty replied.  
  
"Wouldn't it be better if... next time you see her... you can tell her that you were really good? You know, I came over, we played a game, and I had fun. You can tell her about that. And you can say, 'I was really good, Mom, and I'm taking good care of Daddy for you, too.' Look at me." Monty raised his eyes to Peter's achingly sincere face, and the child reluctantly nodded. "Okay? Now, go take a bath, and go to bed, and..." Peter glanced over at Nathan. "Talk to Mommy in your dreams."  
  
"Okay," Monty said with a smile, and went along with the nanny, who looked at Peter like he was from outer space.  
  
Peter straightened up, brushing down his pant legs. "What are you smiling about?" he asked Nathan, smiling himself.  
  
"You're gonna make a great dad someday," Nathan replied.  
  
Peter's smile evaporated. "Yeah, well," he said. "Maybe. For right now, I'll just settle for being a good uncle. Kid's in pain; what am I supposed to do? Let's go for a walk; it's really nice outside."  
  
"Yeah, tell me about your job."  
  
They strolled around the garden and caught up, talked about sports, about the city. Nothing too intense, just listening to the sounds of each other's voices. Nathan loved how skillful Peter was at getting him to relax; fresh air, mild exercise, pleasant and thoughtless conversation.  
  
The sun began to set, and they went back inside, Nathan craving a scotch-and-water. Peter stood around looking at the family photo on the wall—Nathan and Heidi and the boys, Mom and Dad, and him, kind of stuck in as an afterthought, hanging out to the side. Neither he nor Nathan had ever gotten to be as tall as their father, but Nathan very closely resembled him. Peter looked like their mother; Nathan had really only inherited the size and intensity of her eyes.  
  
"Remember that day?" Nathan said, walking up behind Peter.  
  
"Yeah, of course," Peter replied. "Didn't we fight?"  
  
"Yep," Nathan agreed, taking a swallow of his scotch, regarding the picture himself. "I don't remember what it was about, though."  
  
"What do we ever fight about?" Peter said, smiling. "You screwed me over; I got mad."  
  
"I think maybe you screwed _me_ over that time." Nathan almost laughed. "By the way, the house is ours."  
  
Peter shook his head. "What?"  
  
"I sent Jasmine home. Gave her the night off." Nathan concentrated at the photo, waiting for a reply; when none came, he turned and looked at Peter. Peter stared back, his eyes enormous in his thin face, his cheeks slowly turning red. Looking suddenly apprehensive, then sad again.  
  
Nathan asked, "You want a drink?"  
  
"No, I'm good," Peter said. "I was drunk all day." He fell silent abruptly, almost like he was interrupting himself. "I don't know what to feel," he said.  
  
Nathan felt a stab of anxiety, and decided to be straightforward. "Come upstairs?"  
  
"...Okay."  
  
"You okay?" Nathan asked with concern.  
  
Peter answered quickly, "Yeah, I'm..." He trailed off. "We should take a shower."  
  
"Absolutely," said Nathan. "It's been a long day."  
  
"I want to make love to you," Peter said quietly, brushing past Nathan toward the stairs. Nathan watched him go, not knowing what to feel, either. Adoration. Fear. Lust. Wonder. Love that could blot out the sun. He had to find trust, draw it out, share it with Peter, let Peter know, remind himself.  
  
In the shower Nathan washed Peter's hair, kissing his forehead once the shampoo had been rinsed out, following it with kisses on Peter's wet cheeks. For a long time they stood under the blasting hot water, Nathan gently and methodically kissing Peter's cheeks, before Peter grasped Nathan's face and brought their mouths together. It wasn't a long, searching kiss; they traded short, rough, aggressive pecks, sometimes thrusting a tongue briefly inside before drawing back. Peter ran his hand up Nathan's chest and tweaked a nipple, hard; Nathan's breath hissed between his teeth. "We need to do this," Peter murmured, his words nearly lost under the noise of the water.  
  
"Yeah, we do," Nathan replied, running his hands down Peter's back, kissing Peter's mouth again.  
  
Peter gazed at him intently. "Do you understand _why_ we need to do this?"  
  
Nathan shook his head, and ran a wet hand through his hair. "No," he confessed. "I just know I need it. Do you need it, Peter?"  
  
"I _want_ it," Peter said. "I've always wanted it, since before I knew what that even meant."  
  
Instead of replying, Nathan shut off the water, exited the shower, and threw a thick, heavy towel at Peter. Nathan scrubbed himself dry with another one, and walked back into the bedroom without looking behind him.  
  
Peter followed close behind, carrying his towel with him, and roughly shoved Nathan down onto the bed. Peter hadn't dried off completely, and water droplets sparkled on his shoulders and collarbone. Nathan turned over and sat up and licked the droplets off, biting along Peter's chest lightly until he reached a nipple, and pressed his teeth firmly into it. Peter gave a quiet, closed-mouth moan that turned into a gasp of pain. He didn't just give in to it, though—he reached up and squeezed Nathan's nipple again, pinching hard with his fingernails. Instead of letting up, Nathan bit down harder.  
  
"Okay, okay, enough," Peter begged.  
  
"I'll decide when it's enough," Nathan replied, as Peter had hoped he would; now that his tit was free of Nathan's teeth, he seized the opportunity to shove Nathan back down and straddle him, knee against Nathan's hip bone, holding him in place. He swatted at Nathan's hardening cock, not quite slapping it, smiling as he watched it bob and stiffen and rise. Peter gave it another blow, a proper slap this time, and Nathan moaned.  
  
"You know you want it," Nathan muttered.  
  
Peter straightened up a little, his mouth twisted in a smirk, and jerked at his own cock for just a moment; it was already achingly hard, and had been since he stepped out of the shower. He slid up and closer and slipped the head of his cock into Nathan's mouth. Nathan obligingly began to suck, but Peter took himself back into his own hand, changed position to lying alongside Nathan, and went down on him, offering up his own cock to Nathan's mouth. Nathan gave a pleased little growl. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he whispered to Peter.  
  
"No," Peter replied, reached over to the bedside table, and pressed the cold plastic lube bottle he'd brought with him against Nathan's belly. Nathan gave a girlish, startled squeak that made Peter break down laughing; Nathan couldn't help joining in, and they rolled about on the surface of the bed, cracking up, helpless and hysterical.  
  
Peter, calming down at last, rolled toward Nathan, and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his face against Nathan's upper thighs, still chuckling as he kissed the familiar scars running deep under the skin. Nathan breathed a deep, blissful sigh, stroking Peter's lean hip. Peter unfolded his arms, grasped Nathan's now only half-hard cock again, and rubbed it firmly, placing it all into his mouth. Nathan quivered, but didn't make a sound; placing the lube bottle within his reach on the surface of the bed, he took hold of Peter, grateful that Peter hadn't lost his erection even slightly.  
  
This position was new to them. Even after all this time, there were still things they hadn't done together. It was more difficult than it would seem. Peter had a head start, and the advantage of being more on top; Nathan struggled to keep up, his mind and body lost in a confusion of desire and intent. He reached up for the lube bottle, poured some on his fingers, and slid them along the cleft of Peter's ass. Peter freed his mouth to gasp in surprise, only to have Nathan firmly slide two fingers inside him, the slickened thumb sliding down against Peter's balls. "Oh, that's not fair," Peter whispered.  
  
"No, it's not," Nathan replied silkily, running his tongue down the shaft of Peter's dick until he had almost reached his gently pressing thumb. Peter went down for another few slurps, then took the lube bottle from Nathan's hand and returned the gesture exactly. Nathan let out an eager, desperate whine, but didn't take his mouth off Peter to say anything about it.  
  
For a long time, there was only the sound of sucking, of moaning, of slippery fingers. Nathan added a third finger, then Peter followed suit, thrusting unevenly, but hard. Peter turned his face away and wiped his lips against his shoulder, begging, "Please don't suck me off."  
  
Nathan growled, "Fine," and twisted Peter face-down, ass in the air. He hurriedly lubed his cock and slid it inside Peter, slow, but very deep. Peter yelped in protest, his belly suddenly filled with burning discomfort. Nathan, holding his breath, thrust hard and fast.  
  
"Oh _God_! I'm not _ready_!" Peter moaned. Nathan said nothing, his mouth set hard, gripping Peter's hips tightly in his fingers, holding Peter still while he rammed into him, reckless and dangerous, feeling every one of Peter's cries settling down on his heart. For a moment, he hated Peter so much, wanted to tear him apart, wanted to wreck him forever and get him the hell out of Nathan's life. Wanted to give Peter the kind of pain that Nathan felt whenever he wanted Peter, and couldn't have him. And of course, relatively soon, Peter's stifled grunts of pain turned into passionate groans.  
  
Peter liked it. Peter liked getting fucked like this. Peter let him do this—because he wanted it. The terrible wrongness of it, the even more terrible _rightness_, made Nathan's head spin.  
  
_We are so fucked up._  
  
Peter cried, "You're hurting me... what did I do? What did I do?"  
  
Nathan muttered between gritted teeth, "You know what you did."  
  
Peter burst into tears. "I'm sorry! Nathan, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I made you want me—I'm so sorry! I didn't know—I wasn't thinking—I just wanted you so much—"  
  
"Shut up. I'm fucking you." Nathan kept thrusting for a moment, feeling an immense wave of sensation building up inside him. He thought that he was about to come—tried to focus the energy and keep it inside for just a little while longer—but instead of orgasm, he broke down sobbing, the sudden collapse of the wall he'd built inside him against grief and sadness feeling almost orgasmic in itself.  
  
"He's gone!" Nathan moaned, slipping out of Peter, his cock losing its stiffness. "He's dead. Oh, God, he's dead. Dad... God, no..."  
  
"Oh, Nathan... yes... He's gone."  
  
"And I let him down."  
  
"No, Nathan, you were perfect... you were everything he ever wanted you to be. He loved you." Peter turned over, wrapping his arms around Nathan, holding Nathan tightly to his chest. "It's gonna be okay." Nathan returned the embrace, clinging to him, crying so hard he could barely breathe; for a while, he was only aware of Peter's touch on the back of his head, but he raised his head and kissed Peter's mouth, bittering their lips with his tears. His hands slid over Peter's body, touching him everywhere, reassuring himself of Peter's presence.  
  
To Nathan's great surprise, Peter's cock was still as hard as ever, throbbing faintly, the skin still damp from Nathan's mouth and the head slippery with pre-come. Instantly, Nathan felt lust seize him again, even more intensely than before. He knew what he needed. "Take over," Nathan said brokenly. "I showed you. Like that."  
  
Peter didn't even skip a beat. "Like that?" he whispered, kissing Nathan's lips, flickering his tongue in Nathan's mouth. "Like fucking hard and deep inside you? Like that? Fucking you like the unrepentant slut you are?" Peter re-lubed his fingers and stuck them inside Nathan again, scissoring the fingers open.  
  
Nathan had a feeling that Peter wasn't just talking dirty to him. Nathan knew he deserved it, if so. He whimpered, "Yeah... yeah. Do it. Break me."  
  
Peter sighed, combining anger and lust with a single exhalation. Nathan was afraid to look at him, knowing that the sight of Peter right now would wring more tears out of him, and he already felt sick and dizzy and dehydrated. Nathan wept buckets; another reason why he hated crying.  
  
Peter didn't lubricate his cock before he slid himself in, penetrating deep. Nathan screamed into the bedspread, biting down hard onto the cloth. Peter didn't give Nathan more than a few seconds to recover before backing out almost all the way, and shoving himself back in again. Nathan's fingers trembled on the edge of the bed, and Peter stared at them anxiously, half hoping that Nathan would "tap out," admit to feeling too much pain. He wondered what he would do if Nathan did. Fuck him anyway? Wreck his ass until Nathan couldn't walk straight the next day? Nathan was in obvious pain; his whole back was one rigid line of muscle, and Peter could barely move one way or the other. But Nathan didn't tap out. "You feel that?" he whispered to Nathan, lightly stroking his fingers down one side of Nathan's back, and taking advantage of the momentary relaxation to thrust in roughly. Nathan screamed into the mattress again. "You feel how much that hurts? Concentrate on it. Feel it. It fucking hurts, doesn't it? Go to that pain. Go inside that pain. Make it so that nothing else exists. That's all there is anymore." Nathan eased up inside just enough so that Peter could move, and continue the pattern of deep, rough stabs. "It's so good. That pain is so good. It's so right." He couldn't resist kissing Nathan's shoulder before thrusting in again; this time, Nathan was quiet. "Yeah, you got it," Peter whispered, kissing again, and only then did he spread lube on and slide inside again, perfect and easy this time, still good and tight and deep, but not hurting either one of them. "Uh... oh God... you got it."  
  
"That's right... like that. Oh, yes. Oh, _God_." Nathan degenerated into wordless moans as Peter picked up the pace, holding Nathan up off the bed for a while, then, as his arms got tired, sliding out, turning Nathan over and pushing his knees to his chest. Nathan's lips mutely begged for kisses, but Peter looked away, focusing his attention on the whorl of hair around Nathan's navel, at his flat, tight abdominal muscles, flexing and trembling against the dark purple-rose of his cock.  
  
Peter slid out, grabbed the towel from beside where they sprawled on the bed, and wiped his groin thoroughly. Nathan opened his eyes and watched in confusion, which rapidly cleared as Peter straddled Nathan's chest, jerking off hard and fast. "Open up," Peter ordered, and as Nathan obligingly parted his lips and opened his mouth wide to catch the spurting jets of come, added, "Oh, here you go... Here you go. I know how much you want this."  
  
Nathan curled his tongue and swallowed, his lips trembling, half-delirious with pleasure. "Thank you," he whispered, "thank you."  
  
"You fucking pervert," Peter mumbled.  
  
Nathan opened his eyes and smiled. "Your turn."  
  
"Double fucking pervert," Peter replied grumpily, but he was smiling too. He relaxed and lay back, propped up on his elbows, and Nathan crouched over him, wiping himself down, playing the head of his cock against Peter's lips until Peter opened his mouth. Nathan slid inside slowly, then faster and faster, with quick light strokes. Peter's nostrils flared as he struggled for breath, and Nathan pulled out, rubbing in the glistening saliva from inside Peter's mouth, the rubbing turning to firm, concentrated strokes. Peter gazed up at him wide-eyed, looking so young and innocent until he lasciviously stretched out his tongue.  
  
The sight of that was enough. He brought the head of his cock close to Peter's lips, just enough so that he could watch it go in, watch a few drops run from the corner of Peter's mouth. As soon as Nathan was done, Peter shut his mouth, and with only the tiniest frown of distaste, swallowed as well. To Nathan's amazement, Peter also licked up the spill at the corner of his mouth, wiping his chin with his hand and licking that clean, too.  
  
"Peter, you don't _like_ come," Nathan whispered.  
  
"Why do you feed it to me, then?" Peter replied, arching his eyebrow.  
  
Nathan smiled and shrugged, trying to be casual when he was trembling all over. "Because you're my bitch," he said.  
  
"That's right," said Peter, and smiled back. "Even if I'm not a come junkie like you."  
  
"I'm not a junkie. I could quit anytime that I want."  
  
"Could you?" Peter asked, and Nathan wanted to smack him for getting all sincere right in the middle of lighthearted, filthy banter. "Could you quit? Would you?"  
  
Nathan lay beside Peter and frowned. "Could we not think about that right now?"  
  
"When are we gonna think about it, Nathan?"  
  
"Never," Nathan said.  
  
Peter rolled onto his side to face him. "What are you so scared of?"  
  
Nathan shook his head. "Everything."  
  
Peter looked away. "It's just you and me," he said. "Trust me a little."  
  
"This isn't the right time... next time, okay?"  
  
"Next time," Peter echoed. "So there's going to be a next time?"  
  
"Do you want there to be?"  
  
"Always," Peter said immediately, nodding. "Totally. Forever." He sighed and smiled sadly. "I don't get over you. I don't think I can."  
  
"Goes both ways," Nathan murmured. He felt tears threatening again—and almost wished that he could give in, but he was so tired already that he just felt like passing out instead. "Stay with me till I fall asleep," Nathan said. "Fall asleep with me. Set the alarm."  
  
"It's cool," Peter refused politely. He put his arms around Nathan and hugged him, then they both got up, turned the covers down, and got underneath them. The sheets were shockingly cold in comparison, and they had to cling together to warm it up. Peter pressed his lips against Nathan's heart and held them there, breathing heavily against Nathan's skin until he felt Nathan's breath assume the same pattern. "I love you... so much," Peter murmured.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
"We're gonna get through this."  
  
"Yes, we are. Yes. Somehow." Nathan kissed Peter's forehead. "And don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you again, Peter. I promise."  
  
"I believe you," said Peter.

* * *

  
Before returning to his apartment, Peter walked along the pier in the darkness, jingling the pewter monkey against coins in his pocket. He paused at the edge and looked out over the lights of Brooklyn glittering against the water of the river, thought of Nathan, of his mother and father.  
  
He wept one last tear for Dad, wishing that freedom felt... well, freeing, and not terrifying. But that was adulthood, he supposed. And at least he wasn't alone.  
  
He took the trinket out of his pocket, brushing lint off its surface, looked at how worn down it had gotten from the touch of Nathan's fingers over the years. Peter had stroked the cool metal against Nathan's naked, sleeping body before he left, focusing all of his energy through the conduit, through Nathan's skin.  
  
_I love you. You have always had this and you always will._  
  
On the night-shadowed pier, Peter thought of practicing throwing a football with Nathan, sunlight sparkling through his lashes, Nathan laughing, telling Peter he had a good arm, maybe he could be a quarterback someday, if he learned how to run better. Giving him something to aspire to.  
  
He made his shoulders solid, took a step back, aimed, and flung the pewter monkey out as far as it would go. It hit the water with a tiny, bright splash, and disappeared beneath the inky waves.  
  
_People I see, weary of me showing my good side  
I can see how people look down  
I'm on the outside  
Here's where the story ends  
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year  
Which makes my eyes feel sore...  
But the only thing I ever really wanted to say was wrong, was wrong, was wrong...  
_  
\- The Sundays, "Here's Where the Story Ends"

**Author's Note:**

> A few bits here and there:  
-In his youth, Arthur Petrelli, as portrayed by Robert Forster, actually DID resemble his son Nathan as portrayed by Adrian Pasdar... 
> 
> \- Ritual Reader's Guide: [to come]


End file.
